


Unkindness:  Questions and Answers

by Kasan_Soulblade



Series: Fragments and what we spy by them [2]
Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Background fic, Gen, Past centirc, more details pending, spoilers for Unkindness fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasan_Soulblade/pseuds/Kasan_Soulblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because he never expected it to be him.  They never expected it to be them.  They weren't heroes, not one of them.<br/>Still heroes or not, they had to come form somewhere.</p><p>When reviewing their files Yuan would wind his mind over their facets, and come as he always did, to a bit of abstraction.</p><p>A whimsy, he twiddled, when the facts became too harsh.</p><p>Question "What leaves a line, a mark, yet may not not a scar?"</p><p>The answers varied from one and all, would vary should he ask, dare he.  But he didn't, and simply let the possibilities rattle about in his mind.</p><p>Answer:  A tear's path, a lesson learned, a moral stand, a wound unhealed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Words everyone else hears

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a place for me to drop off all the coherent notes for Unkindness, some might be spoilers for relationships, later plot points, or simply character histories, because of this I felt some warning was due. I'll try to keep it to a minimum, but well I do need a place to store the stuff. So here we are.

The Words everyone else hears

A Yashin Yuan reflective piece

 

They sat him down in hall made of steel, there were chairs and there he’d been sat. It was uncomfortable and cold, but he hadn’t whined, just did as he was told. The woman in white smiled at that. She wore a white vest over her shirt with silver and gold insignias, that was the person who spoke to him. All the others were going and gone.

She didn’t wear a name badge, and he didn’t ask, rather roamed the symbolgy so he wouldn’t see how her expression looked, how she really felt. Because if he did he was sure that that smile would have been false.

And he couldn’t take that, not any more.

Aska’s claws baring serpent and chalice, that was closest, and the meaning was beyond him. The silver square with black dashes (more than twenty, after twenty he’d stopped counting) meant much more than the bird anyway. It could have meant lives saved, battles she’d served in, and years. Likely it was all three. There was a patch on her shoulder that was much the same as the one on her front, the lines kept Aska a stark kind of company.

Whether it was years or lives or battled didn’t matter, what did was that dashes meant was that she was important. More than ten meant really important, beyond that meant near irreplaceable.

He’d asked dad what that meant, ir-re-place-able meant, he’d slowed the word down careful too so he’d say it right. Dad had smiled and said valuable, to the following confusion had been cleared up as Dad had first hopped from word to word, then finding one that Yashin had understood, retraced his step so not only one word was explained, but the differing words related to it were as well.

Then he’d asked Dad about stripes, first why, and why the tally’s weren’t different colors, then if Dad had a badge, like that. One with black and white, a tally of years and everything.

Dad said nothing for a while, and the smile came more brittle as he said that black and white weren’t his colors. He’d look like a prisoner of sorts, so many bars on the background. Well more of a prisoner.

No matter how Yashin had nattered Dad hadn’t explained, finally saying he would when he was older, and because Dad so rarely said it Yashin had sulked.

But in the end accepted.

So when this lady, in white on white, had him sit and he counted and found he didn’t want to count any higher… well he was polite about it. Not asking any nosy questions, and because she was important he managed a salute. It was odd, doing so while sitting but the hand on his shoulder kept him sitting even when he knew he should stand to do so.

“It’s alright solder, stand down.”

So he does, sorta slumping. Both hands set in his lap he tries his hardest not to kick his feet and as still as can be while she sets herself on the floor before him. They can almost see eye to eye then.

“Alright… well normally I’d doing this for adults, but since it’s just you and your dad and I’m sure he wouldn’t want to keep you in the dark we’re going to both try something new, alright?” He nods, brown limp hair tickling his neck and ears. ”So.. I’m going to explain what happened and if you don’t understand you can ask what you want alright?”

To his silence and waiting she squirms a bit and thinks of something beyond him before meeting his brown eyes with her black.

“We’ll do good news first, alright?” Another nod, “First off, your dad took the mana transfusion well. Really well. There weren’t any side effects or any type conflict with his signature. He’s going to be alright.”

A justifiable disclaimer, considering how unalright people could become when mana transfusions went bad.

Dad said the reason why the Regeneration never stuck was because there was some sort of conflict and that the people died awful when it did go bad. And even when it didn’t go that bad sometimes death was considering a better thing than living. Sometimes they had to kill people who had bad transfusions, because there wasn’t a cure when things went that bad and the people who went through them went crazy or turned into monsters or other horrible things like that.

“Yashin… are you alright?”

“Why… why did he.. I mean.. it’s _Dad_.”

And for anyone else who said that it would have been parent worship of a kind. That rock steady assurance that nothing would happen to their parents (until something awful did). But Yashin was lucky in one way, in that it would take so much for something horrible to actually happen to his Dad. He was the most powerful spell caster in Tethe’alla after all, and Dad was a Cardinal, no one dared to anything to a Cardinal.

“I know sweatheart, but sometimes well… sometimes these things happen.” She took his hand, squeezed it in fingers that were tough and hard and her pinky was so shot so not to be there. Once upon a time he might of asked why (or asked Father, who knew everything about everyone) but that was then, this was now.

And he was shaking, because she’d said something that he’d heard said to everyone else.

Something he’d ever imagine would be said to him ever.

Because Dad was just too strong to get hurt, ever. It wasn’t possible and… And he was shaking, being shook. She shook him, called his name like he was a sleeper needing to be woken.

“Yashin…” And she said more, but he wasn’t hearing, still he nodded. Grip became pinch, and though she was short a finger it hurt enough he looked up. “I need you to say something, to speak. To let me know you aren’t going into sympathetic shock.”

“I’m… I’m alright…”

“You’re father’s going to be fine-“

He cut her off, never mind importance and marks, just said what he was thinking without a please or excuse me.

“What’s the bad news?”

Eyes flicked past him, considered something, finally they meet his own.

“He’s… you know what he is, right?”

Religious titles, all false and inflicted tease his tongue. He’s been taught them, how to respond to them, to others who speak to Father like that. Father is Father, is Dad when he’s worrisome or exasperating or when Father just feels to formal or long.

That’s what Dad is, Dad.

Nothing else really matters.

Still she want’s something, so he says the truth because anything else might lead to her saying no and showing him out and he won’t go. Not when he knows something’s wrong.

“I’ve seen his wings.”

There’s no hesitance to it, no stutter, no fear. Her face says there should be. That he should be afraid and fearful and… something. Not calm like he is now.

And he almost asks why he should be. But he doesn’t. Because he wants to see Dad and knows, just knows, that this person can make that happen, or not.

So he asks what he wants to, no please or may I attached.

“Can I see him?”

“His… his form is unstable.”

Which means he’s possibly glowing and his wings are out and he’s pale and probably going to be pricklier than a cacti because he’ll have to retrain his body to eat solids and to sleep again and that takes weeks after he’s had to draw his wings. He says these things and she gets pale and a little sick looking but nods to tell him that what he’s said is true. Dad does look like that. She doesn’t comment on his the rest though.

“May I?”

When she says yes, and he goes she calls after him to slow down, which he does, and somewhere between here and there Uncle Botta has caught up to them and is walking besides the woman asking for more details about magi whatever it was and some sort of exposure, the words keep getting cut off with a need to lower voices and his attention’s more than wandering. Still they get there and Uncle orders the woman away and pushes open the door for him. Uncle’s robes block his vision, and his arm is stiff and somewhat blocking him, to that wordless command the boy looks up

“Five minutes, then you have to leave. Medical person policy, alright Yash’?”

So he nods and goes but isn’t quite agreeing when he does so but no one needs to know that. The arms lifted and he can see inside and it’s everything and nothing like he said it would be or like she hinted it might be.

There is light everywhere, fathers’ glowing wings are the least of it. There is glowing writing on the walls and on the floors, runes that circle so slow, and lights falling and rising from the arcane runes and rising from the tiled floors etching. Light meets light and fractures like a prism without the glass.

It was impossible to tell what color robes father was wearing, only that they are loose and flowing and parted just so so the light glimmered along the edges of his cruxis crystal just so. The familiar blue of his hair the redish pink of his wings were memories that Yashin knew were true but the runes made mockeries of.

Behind him the door closed, but behind him didn’t matter, he was moving forward then there, then at father’s side, though the man remained scarily still. Not even breathing. But then rune spells did that, stopped breathing because they breathed for you and Dad… well Dad was Dad and sometimes he forgot to breathe.

Daring, and daring because no one said you couldn’t, that’d it ever hurt someone, Yashin trailed seam of the robe, pulled back at the sleeve, and because it was the only part likely he couldn’t hurt took hold of his father’s hand.

Because though Father forgot a lot of things, like eating and breathing, a lot of normal things, but there was one thing he’d never lost, ever.

He never forgot how to touch, how to be touched.

So Yashin held on, because father couldn’t, because that was all that he had left right now.


	2. Undertone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Yashin Yuan family piece with me just exploring a little of their background with minimal spoilers. Expect a Tylor Colette familial piece soon!

He didn’t mind, blending in, none of them did. Where most children were treasures and told they were special, Goddess chosen for a place and time to act, such platitudes never touched his ears.

There was no place for him to be, no part in a ritual that was cruel charade and nothing else.  His place was his to make, he’d be given the tools to make what he would, but his station would not be dictated.  Not by heritage, or expectations of race, his path was his to make.

He could leave at any time, he could stay, he was told of the world so not to feel trapped, told of peoples at first with a story teller’s cadence, then tales ran out and history was taught in stories steed.  Here and there times of rest were given, time out from the familiar with sweeping permissions to explore.

For the youngest of the lot such explorations were made with the guidance of a designated family member, as biology was a dodgy thing.  For him the gene pool had all but run dry so therefore it wasn’t even consulted.

It took Lord Father more time than most to arrange leave, still he had thus there they were.

As an apology for the wait and the fact that his friends had gotten two whole leaves already (some were going on their third) he’d been given pick of their first place to go, thus a Cardinal’s garb was hidden under a long coat, the cloak atop was strange, but not teased, because one didn’t tease the different and it was specifically ordered not to call it a blanket even though it looked an awful lot like one.

And because there were two worlds (but there wasn’t, simply two sides of the same coin, still there was a twoness even if it was because of a divide) that meant there were twice the peoples to stare at and be stared at in return.  And while he tried to take it all in (each halves, of the whole, though it was shattered there was a near perfect fit to it, where one could see the lines between point a and b were cut and just aching to be strung back together…) a quick rap (barely a tap) to the back of his head got his wandering thoughts back to the present.  The owner of that chilly knuckle recalled him to manners and he smiled his apologies which in turn softened the glare canted down at him.

Still smiling, and shivering, because the world was bright and white and so _so_ cold he curled against the familiar frame while walking, and to that closeness perhaps Father remembered what cold was like, because he draped his cloak just so.  Tucking it close, over his own cloaked frame while walking nearly caused him to stumble, still nearly wasn’t, so he didn’t, and was rewarded with a soft chuckle and the scrape of rough war calloused fingers over his scalp.

Because though father was gentle he was not always mindful and thus had forgotten his gloves even as he told his Son not to do so.

They carried on, threading Flanoir’s icy streets, chatting of things that had been and what might be. Stopping once in a place here the cities wall was left broke for winters heaviest snowfall to have a route of escape least the whole town smother, and it was there they looked down and to the distance. Hints of structures not quite finished, poked out of the snow. Bases of stone, jutting out like off color ice, in some places adorned with scarves commandeered as flags or warning, least those unwise plow into them with abandon and gain concussions for their trouble when they mistook them for snow in the dark, or some other such silliness.

“Mainly for the tourists and trouble makers and those who… partake too much.”  Father’s voice though was called harsh (and he other things akin to harsh) and it was  made harsher by cold and habits response to it there was warm as he smiled.  “Shall we?”

So they descended, taking the stairs and not the ramp despite the ice upon it and how sliding was fun.  Because, though fun it wasn’t necessarily safe, and because he couldn’t explain why the unsafeness was worth the risk of maybe fun he was not allowed.  Still it wasn’t all seriousness as he was permitted to reach out, and though his fingers were muffled by thick gloves the  patter of raising  a nonsense melody as they descended made him giggle. About midway his legs hurt and though it took a bit of a tangle to set to rights he was carried, and bundled up in Father’s cloak as well.

Near the bottom, just one set of stairs that father didn’t seem in a hurry to go down they  stopped. A squirm got him to the ground, and a clamber had him scaling the rail to better see.  The familiar band of pressure and chill supported him as he kicked at the air with his feet, sure of  his seat.

  “So, you own all of this?”

Because he was young, young enough that miles seemed eternal and the land endless.  Therefore, though there were buildings distinct, and a Cruxis building was the most distant of them all, therefore making it safer, the space between drop and back to the main town  was both staggeringly large and indescribable for a mere eight year old.

Also, considering his inexperience the place was alien.  He wasn’t used to snow, though he’d seen pictures of it and read about it in his classes.  Raised to find novelty in the unfamiliar he smiled at the difference and groused minimally about the discomfort being here caused.

Father chuckled, rarely did he really laugh, there was always a tone of caution even in his joy.  “Lets’s say I know someone who owns the land.  Laws being what they are, technically I can’t own anything.”

And with the surety of all eight year olds Yashin passed judgment upon that choice bit of trite, even calling it that too.  His candor nearly made father laugh, setting one hand over his mouth least he be caught smiling never mind there was no one to catch him in the act.

Unless it was by _them._   A quick glance up told one of the two all was safe in that regard, the other simply knew and had been exercising caution born of being about _them_ too long.  Mirth dying, for Father had seen and knew why as he always did he let his hand drop down, and though there was hood in the way he did his best to ruffle hair.  All in all it was a poor comfort but all he truly could give.

Looking at vastness before him, leaning a bit to the side so Father supported him Yashin savored silence  and it’s unspoken promise and father stilled, not needing to breath allowing him to be stiller than stone, something he did when he was thinking hard..

“So what’re you gunna do with all that?”

Because there was stillness and there was growing snow mounds, which Father would do if Yashin didn’t do something and asking was best.

Because, if he was lucky asking lead to being shown, to getting to see things a different way.  It was better than any silly old story ever could be, though he couldn’t tell why and thus couldn’t top one of his peers in telling her why his dad was better than her dad… well maybe another showing might give him a how.

And if not, well it was another view of a world that was two sided yet more than that.

“Quite a bit.”  And though holding him Father slipped a bit closer, tucking his cloak about him just so and though Yashin was taller on the rail Father was taller still.  So he hunched a bit, making them not quite same height but close enough.  “Now those red flags, the ones shaking off their ice a bit to the west, see how they’re all in a row like that, reds outer wall, that’s the spot for insulation, and you’ll notice the steel pipe, a thin line of a thing with the green about it’s top, what does that remind you of?”

Recalling Home, and how its intersections had floors that peeled away with the right tools, and how there were colored pipes running like roads under the floors, in the walls, they hummed during the quiet times of day and night, a lullaby of sorts that permeated every room.  Lessons on safety, of how to twist it just so with this driver to turn  off the flow of one…  It was something he wasn’t meant to hear if the teachers grumbled “run along” meant much, still he’d seen.

“The gas, for cooking an’ stuff.”

“So that place might be?”

“Kitchens!”  A huff at his back was all the correction he needed.  “ _The_ kitchens.”

Because though smart and knowing everything Father was fussy like that.

“Correct, now see that blue banner, what do you think that might mean?”

Crossing his arms, sure he could do so safely because Father’d never drop him, so promised the pressure about his frame, the warm cloak tucked just so, Yashin kicked his feet as he thought.

“Seeking a hint?”

Asking for  a hint meant losing a cookie at dessert, asking for an answer meant the loss of perhaps two cookies, it simply depended if Father like the flavor or not.  For the sake of his cookies Yashin was going to stand firm, or sit somewhat still and think his hardest.  A few moments more, chill fingers ticked his neck making him squeak, and look up to find Father’s blue eyes gazing down.

“How about now?”

“That’s mean!”

A smile and chuckle.  “I’m cold.”  A lie, Yashin was the one who might have been shivering, but only a little.  “And the day wears on.”

“Nope.”

“Ah so time’s still then, and when did I ever find this little Origin speck?”

“Not asking, got time.”

“Not much.”  And though warning it wasn’t too serious of one, a puppy eyes would have likely gotten Father to waste a little mana to make him warm to get a little more. “Five minutes to be exact.”

A rush of warmth and crackle of static told him Father’d suspected that ploy and decided to defang it by acting on it upon his own terms.

“No fair!”

“Life isn’t,” came the drawled response.  “Now hurry up.”

So Yashin hurried.  And maybe, maybe he got it right.

He’d only know come desert and the number of cookies he’d find on his tray as to whether he was right or not.  An exercise of patience and waiting, Father’d call it, or something much like that.  Still why he waited it wasn’t particularly bad to hint that perhaps brownies, not cookies, would be bestest _(better_ , the correction was emphasized with a squeeze on his hand, as they walked back to the inn).  And even _better_ , he’d say the word carefully, making sure Father heard him say it right, was hot chocolate with brownies with cookies as a side.

“ _That’s_ a desert.”

A snort.  “More like a hummingbird in the making.  Perhaps for Winter’s Feast, if you’re good and I’m off base for the day, and my Second isn’t.”

With that assurance of a promise so encumbered with clause it was unlikely to come true no matter what,  they went to back up paths towards people and likely more staring.  Yashin hummed to himself, feeling about the words Father said, wondering where it sounded off and slowing because of it.  Not minding his charges distraction Cardinal Yuan seemed taken by a similarly musical mood and hummed a tune most tone deaf favored.  An incoherent one where if you tortured your ears you might catch a passable strain that could identify the whole.

But only if you really really tried, and unlike his ward he’d not reward the passerby with sweets for getting it right, rather leave them with a bit of bittersweet enlightenment.

His song was an old hymn, a tale of Aska and Luna, a song about their wedding day and the misfortunes of Fate cast by Origin’s hand had wrecked their happiness and the union they’d hoped to achieve between spirit and mortal asunder.


End file.
